As we turned the corner into San Jose’s red zone a woman with her eyes to the sky staggered toward us. She wore years of hardship on her face and a hopelessness to her gait. I’m sure the three older women that we were with could protect us. At least they wanted to. They did not need to be here either, but they wanted to help feed the children in the red zone.

I was carrying a bag of cupcakes that our host, Ana, baked the night before. Trin carried a bag of children’s clothes that were being donated by Ana and her sister, Frances, who also was with us. Together with Juanita, who was our contact to the soup kitchen, all five of us progressed further into what is locally known as the Zona Roja in San Jose.

We walked past the two men sleeping on the sidewalk; the sidewalk smelled of urine. Vendors cluttered the streets and garbage lay where it was thrown. This zone is seemingly left to rot on its own.

I pulled out my iphone to take some pictures, but Frances gestured to keep it out of sight. “Muy peligroso,” she said in a low tone. She has an edge to her that at first I could not put a finger on, until I found out later that she lives in Ticoblock, a tiny neighborhood that itself could be considered a red zone in the suburb of Guadalupe.

Another woman stormed by stoned out of her mind in a bikini top and short jean skirt. A bottle stuffed in her waist band. Her skin was leather and hung on her frame like it was an old coat, instead of being part of her body. A man with clothes twice his size that dragged ragged around his bare feet stood up from where he was lounging against a soot covered wall and stumbled toward the garbage can to look for his lunch.

Juanita stopped and knocked on a metal door squeezed between two store fronts, right across Terminal 7-10. Eventually someone opened the door and we followed a man up a dark stairwell.

Looking out over the rusted rooftops at the edge of the red zone.

Upstairs was a small meeting room and a kitchen where lunch would be made for the forgotten children of the red zone. I swept the kitchen floor and then began to mop. It was a hot day, and there was no airflow; sweat dripped from my face. Trin was washing dishes when he heard a noise above his head. He looked up toward a hole in the roof where a stray cat poked its head down and meowed at him.

Trin chopping tomatoes with Ana. Her sister Frances cooking a meal at the stove. Juanita, our third guide is at the sink.

Frances took over the mopping for me while we sat down with the director. He told us about how they are trying to keep children off the street and help drug addicts get clean. They also work with an indigenous group in Northern Costa Rica. These are people devoted to helping those who are forgotten or overlooked by society. Loving people where they are, not stopping to ask if a choice or uncontrolled circumstances got them there.

Mopping the floor with a curious cat watching

At noon, the children came and gathered in the meeting area where they sang worship songs and the pastor spoke to them. Then we ushered the children to the meal area where they enjoyed the meals that we prepared and the cupcakes that Ana baked. We sent them home with the donated clothes.

First, the Airbnb home where we are staying is much better than the run-down cheap hostel that we stayed in the first time.

The bed barely fit in the squalid little room of CRLove where we stayed four months ago. The host admitted to us that she did not like customers.

In fact I think we found the best deal in town and it feels like home. We are staying with Ana who has a quick and easy laugh and a kind persona, and her wonderful family in a tranquil gated neighborhood.

The home of Ana in San Jose. The best deal in town. The nicest host.

Second, we were also able to see more of the nice parks in San Jose.

Plaza de la Cultura, San Jose

Third, Trin was in pain when he had his jaw drilled. This visit is much more exciting as the dental crowns were installed and he is able to eat on both sides of his mouth for the first time in six months.

Trin and his dental impressions

Lastly, maybe because the first time we came here, it was directly from the US, while this time we came to San Jose after two and a half months in Nicaragua. I always try to be objective in each new place we visit but it is difficult to keep all subconscious comparisons from influencing my perception.

Teatro Nacional in San Jose

It’s all about perspective. Seeing past all the noise that often obstructs our viewpoints and seeing people for who they really are.

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If you don’t have an AirBnb account yet, click this link to get a $25 credit.